The Master's Song
by CalgaryCowgirl
Summary: He is the Lord and Master of the world of Kooza, using his great powers to alter reality to suit his every whim. He has always been portrayed as a god, a being above the ebb and flow of mortal emotions. But what if he wasn't so immune to his heart's sway?


The music was lively, the dancers spinning like tops, nearly out of control. How easy it would be. How easy to simply wave his hand and watch as their little party crashed down around their ears.

As he gazed down from the lofty reaches of his perch, the Trickster found himself, smiling. That old, familiar smirk tracing its way across his lips as he remembered just how effortless it would be, how quick, to remind them all of his power. He ruled here, no other. It was merely for his own amusement that he allowed that bumbling clown to call himself King. To watch the discord and foolishness that would ensue throughout his 'rule' almost brought forth a chuckle from the Master's lips. Almost, but not quite.

This was HIS world. He created it and it was through his continued good will that these beings continued to reside in it. These creatures who thought they understood, who presumed to know who he was and how things worked. His smile widened. They knew nothing, but it amused him to toy with them in this way, and so he never shattered their illusion. After all, what fun would be left to him if they knew?

As it was, they were his playthings, ignorant of their true position in his world. They were his to move about and manipulate when the whim struck, and strike it would. More than once before he had peered down at the remnants of a party, much like this one, watching his toys scurry away, fearing the storm he had created above their heads, fearful that he might take it into his head to strike one of them down that night. Not that he would, then there would be one less plaything for him, but they didn't need to know that.

There was only one who did, only one who could come even close to being able to say she knew him, but never did. The one other being who, like him, could move about his world like a breath of wind. The one other being who had stood upon this perch, gazing down at the creatures below, watching their dances, hearing their cries, watching them stumble about the world in ignorance. She had sung their laughter, their joy, their heartbreak. Today she danced among them, singing out words of happiness, play, and joy. Ever moving, one instant she was swinging through the air with his trapeze girl, the next she was juggling with one of his guards, only to be twirled about by his clowns an instant later, her laughter interrupting the song.

The nightingale, his songbird. When he had created her, the Trickster had never imagined the impact she would have had on him. But it had happened, ever so slowly, as he watched her grow and thrive, the prize flower in his garden. Today, if she had asked to follow the innocents back to their world, he would have refused, probably going so far as to forbid her to leave his side. As it was, it pained him to know he was not the first to have held sway over her heart.

Shrinking back into the shadows, he grimaced, remembering how the fires of his demons had tempted his songbird. It had been a temptation she could not refuse and the twin demons, the masters of his Wheel of Death, had welcomed her into the passion and heat that was their part of his world. She had joined in their dance, lending her voice, crying out their danger and beauty, warning and yet tempting other women like herself with her sultry tones, so well suited to the flames that kissed the heels of her lovers.

But his songbird was too delicate for them. The love held inside her heart was not enough to tame the wild passions of the twins and so, eventually, they left her, left her lying, heartbroken and bewildered in the ashen crater that always heralded their passing. He had been there, as he always had been, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her back to the safety of her gilded cage. He, with the assistance of the other musicians, had helped her heal. Slowly she had come back into herself, bearing a little more wisdom with her as she journeyed through life, though still grasping it with as much vitality as she always had. She chose to move on, to fly like the bird he had named her for. Unlike him, she harboured no ill-will for the demons, slowly coming to realize that she was the one who had chosen to play with fire, she who had allowed herself to be burned. It had taken him longer to erase the harsh anger he held in his heart. But as she had reminded him, the only difference between the demons and their Master was the power they held in their hands.

It had angered him to hear her say that. To hear her comparing him to the demons who had broken her, had left her in their literal dust to pick up the pieces of her heart. But it angered him only because he knew she spoke the truth. Just as he made playthings of every being in this world, so had they made a plaything of her. Such knowledge hurt him, but such was the price of all knowledge.

He had tried to change, tried to resist the temptation to toy with his people, to manipulate the innocents and alter reality before their very eyes. And he succeeded, for a time. But it was not to last. To hold himself to such a standard of honour and model behaviour slowly began to chip away at his sanity. This was not who he was, and yet he still strove to be that person, for her. He would happily fall into the black arms of madness for her, to be the man she wanted.

But she had wrenched him back, pulled him out of that bleak future at the last instant with the simple question, who had asked him to change? Not her, surely. She was simply doing what he had created her to do, bringing to light the hidden links that connected them all. The difference, she had told him, was that he understood when to stop. He knew his world possessed a certain limit, one he would not cross. The demons, being demons, had no understanding of this and so ran roughshod over the limits and boundaries of any creature that allowed them to do so. She had allowed them to do so to her and come out wiser for it, wise enough to know, no creature could go against who they were, and never would she ask them to do so.

Things had almost gone back to normal with that. It was with great relief that he fell back upon his playtime, revelling in how right it felt, basking in the glow of her happiness for him as she watched him from the golden perch they shared, finally understanding what he truly wanted, what he had been asking of her almost from the very beginning.

The soft sound of a step on the stairs drew him from his thoughts. He would know that step amongst a crowd of thousands. His face softening, he turned to watch her enter, listening intently to the sounds of her steps. Was it his lovesick heart, or did the very sound of her feet upon the stair have a musical quality to it, singing like chimes in the wind. Her sari shimmered in the dim light that reached them from below, the gold and reds lending her an ethereal glow, giving her the appearance of a goddess in the flickering torchlight.

Having at last lighted the final step, she glanced about the room, her face blooming into that smile as she finally spotted him, half hidden in the shadows. That smile; small, sweet, loving, the smile that could melt him to his very core, the smile she only ever gave to him. Not even the demons, who had once gripped her heart with iron chains, had ever once received a smile like this. This knowledge warmed him in a way he never knew possible.

He didn't move. Choosing, rather, to watch that signature sway of her body as she crossed the floor to meet him in the darkness. For a long moment, she just stood there, offering herself to his eyes, granting him silent permission to gaze upon, not only her physical form, but to peer into the very depths of her soul. He watched, silently, as her hand crept up to slide, gently, over the curve of his headdress. She delicately felt the twisting tines and subtle hems that made up this mark of power before slipping her hand back down to gently rest above his breast, where she could feel the quiet beating of his heart. It amazed him, to this day, how a woman as vocal as she was, could be so adept at silent communication, at telling him without a single word, what it was she loved about him.

His face never changed as he reached up, his fingers curling about the seductive curve of her waist, and drew her further into the shadows, further into him. It still amazed him on occasion, how well this tiny thing fit against his form, as though his heart had understood that day, even if he hadn't. He needed her, his nightingale, his songbird, just as badly as she now needed him, her lover, her master. Leaning down, the Trickster breathed in her intoxicating scent, losing himself in the feeling of her body curling and twisting in response. Bringing his face about, he let his lips glide across hers, a ghost of a kiss that left them both wanting. Pulling back slightly, the Master took a moment to gaze into those eyes, those perfect twin sapphires, glittering like stars in the light. His stars, made by his hand and loved by his heart.

A spark of amusement lit her eyes. She knew his thoughts and they pleased her. She reached up and the Trickster felt her hands curl over his shoulders to lock behind his neck, gently tugging him closer, begging him to satisfy the craving burning in their hearts. In this respect, he could deny her nothing, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, giving in to the passion between them as the exhilarating flavour of her mouth hit his tongue. Tugging at her hips, he pulled her as close as their physical forms would allow, till there was not an inch of space left between them. The fires of passion blazed within their hearts, feeding off each other and crying out for more from deep within the shadows of their perch.

Pausing to allow her breath, the Trickster pressed a gentle kiss to her nose, smiling as he felt her snuggle up, nestling her head beneath his chin, moving her hands to wrap about his back, hugging him to her. Staring over her head at the twinkling lights and merriment still in full swing down below, the Master found himself thinking. He wondered, as he often had in the past, what his puppets would think if they ever knew him as well as she did. What would enter their minds, if one of them just happened to glance up and catch the lovers tucked away in the silence and the shadows? Would they think less of him, seeing him as no better than they were for allowing his heart to hold such sway over him? Or would they simply see it as yet another facet of his being? Turning back, he pressed his lips to the crown of her head. When he thought of it, it didn't really matter what his little puppets thought about him, the only thing that mattered was her, here and now.

His fiery songbird, his immortal nightingale.


End file.
